Dad caught sight of something at the bar. “Hey, your ghost hunters are on TV.”
Across the bar, the Harrisburg news crew stood outside the entrance to the Hillcroft Coal Mine. The No Trespassing sign took up most of the shot.
“Great,” I said.
The TV was muted, but a black band of captions scrolled across the bottom of the screen.
“...and last night the crew was disturbed by two Addamsville teenagers playing a prank. No one was injured, but the teenagers were taken into the custody of the Addamsville Police Department.Dead Men Walkingleader Tad Thompson has stated they will not press charges....”
“Of course they won’t press charges!” I said. “They stole our footage and they don’t want anyone to find out!”
The captions went on.“... the show has delayed its official investigations in order to allow this weekend’s homecoming festivities to take place without interruption, but this evening they plan to do additional filming of another famous haunted location: Grimshaw House, located on Addamsville’s south side. The crew will beaccompanied by a police escort to ensure no incidents occur.”
“Oh.” Sadie’s face fell. “Grim’s not gonna be happy about that.”
I already had my phone out to text Artemis. There would be plenty of witnesses around the house, not to mention at least one of the police officers, and if we hounded the police about getting the footage back, theDMWcrew might hand it over. Hopefully Chief Rivera had a warrant or something to search their equipment more thoroughly.
A shot of Grimshaw House, paint chipped and weeds overgrowing its lawn, appeared for a moment on the TV. A haunted house if there ever was one, though of course no ghosts showed on screen. It should have belonged to Grim, but the will that passed the property down to the next Grimshaw had been lost years ago, and the town had sold it to Hermit Forester. That alone was enough to make me think there was something funky about it, though I’d never figured out what.
“They found the treasure in that place yet?” Dad asked. There was a theory that the Grimshaws had hidden their railroad fortune somewhere in their house. No one had found it yet, but not for lack of trying: it had been a favorite break-in spot for teenagers when my mom was young, but none of them had ever escaped without being horribly injured. Falling down stairs, tripping on things that weren’t there, getting electrocuted by bad wiring. Even the Birdies didn’t go near it now.
“Nope,” I said, “the definitely-totally-real treasure remains hidden.”
“Is Grim still trying to find the will?”
“He’s looked,” Sadie said. “We both have. There’s nothing in the library about it, just old articles about the family. If the town council knew where it was, you’d think they’d have told him about it.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Dad said. “The Foresters have owned that place a long time. Imagine the town council prying a Goldmine house out of the hands of one of the old families, especially after all these years. And even if they did, and Grim got the will back and found out he was the heir to the house, he’d have to take Forester to court.”
And if there was anyone in town who didn’t have the money to take an old family to court, it was Grim. Grim, the oldest living Grimshaw, surely the heir to the house. Grim, who had never hurt a single living creature in his whole life.
The door to the Fool chimed. A large group of men shuffled into the restaurant. Their cheeks were chapped rosy red, their shoulders huddled up around their ears. Most wore junkyard jumpsuits under their coats, some the jeans and blue shirts from the auto shop. Buster Gates’s wrecking crew.
Buster Gates looked like a bulldog that got stung in the face by a hornet. He shared no resemblance to Lorelei, his daughter, and he was the actual polar opposite of Grim, hisnephew. How he ever got on the town council is beyond me, though it was probably money. He cheated people out of their junk and their car repairs, treated Grim like an indentured servant, and occasionally tried to run over teenage girls with his stupid ogre truck.
Buster said hi to Ecky Sanders, the bartender, and he and his group made their way toward the pool tables. I shrank into my seat to hide. Dad noticed my reaction and turned.
“Hey!” Dad raised a hand. “Buster boy! Long time no see!”
“No, Dad,no,” Sadie said, but Dad was already standing.
Buster and his group stopped a table away and sized Dad up like a bull with a matador. Buster snorted and lifted his chin.
“They let you out already?” Buster said. “Thought you had another couple decades.”
Dad laughed; either he didn’t see the looks on their faces, or he didn’t care. “No, three and a half years and I’m done! How’s everything been? Junk business doing okay?”
Buster narrowed his eyes. He wasn’t the smartest pig in town, but even I couldn’t tell if Dad was messing with Buster, or if Dad honestly didn’t realize he and Buster weren’t friends anymore. I grabbed Dad’s sleeve and tugged on it.
“Did you know your girl’s been attacking people?” Buster said, nodding to me. “Trespassing on private property, putting her nose where she shouldn’t, and now setting fire to houses, not just herself. George Masrell’s dead, and she’s still the prime suspect.”
Dad’s smile faltered. “Come on, Buster, you know Zora wouldn’t do something like that.” He took my hand off his sleeve and put his on my shoulder. “She’s made some bad choices in the past, but we all have. She’s trying to make up for it now, and that’s all we can ask.”
I rolled my eyes. Did hereallythink flimsy appeals like that would sway a town like Addamsville?
“You call robbing this town abad choice?” The faces in the crowd behind Buster grew darker. A lot of people had been touched by Dad’s scheme. Alot. “You robbed Masrell, too, and he helped send you to prison. How do we know you didn’t do this?”
“That’s not—”
